It was very late before Clematis fell asleep that night, and in the morning she had a headache.

When she got up she had to sit on the bed, she felt so dizzy.

Miss Rose found her sitting there.

“Why, Clematis,” she said. “Are you sick?”

“Yes’m, I guess so,” whispered the poor little girl.

“Lie right down again, dear, and perhaps you will feel better.”

They brought her a cup of cocoa, and some toast, for breakfast, but she could not eat.

All day she lay there, pale and sick.

In the afternoon old Doctor Field came in to see her. He sat down by the bed and asked her some questions.

He looked at her tongue, and felt her pulse. Then he took out some little pills and gave them to Miss Rose.

“I guess you had better put her in a single room,” he said. “Give her some of these in water, every two hours during the day.”

He smiled at Clematis before he went out. “I guess she will feel better in the morning, when I come again.”

But in the morning Clematis was not better. She was worse.

“How did she pass the night?” asked Doctor Field, as he felt her pulse.

“Not very well,” said Miss Rose. “She did not sleep much, and had a good deal of pain.”

Doctor Field looked at her chest and arms.

“It might be chicken pox, or measles,” he said, “but I don’t see any of the usual signs.”

Little Clematis lay and looked at him steadily.

“Did you want something, dear?” he asked.

“I want a drink,” she said. “I want a drink of cold, cold water.”

“Yes, dear, you shall have a drink, of course you shall.”

The old doctor went into the hall with Miss Rose.

“She may have a drink, but only a little at a time. And I wouldn’t let it be too cold. She really gets enough water with her medicine.”

Soon they brought Clematis a little water in a cup. She raised her head and drank it, but then made a face and turned her head away.

“It isn’t any good,” she said.

That evening old Doctor Field came again. He looked carefully at Clematis, and shook his head.

“I guess it’s only a slow fever. It’s nothing catching,” he said. “She’ll be better in a few days.”

The few days passed, but Clematis was not better.

At night she was restless, and slept little. Even when she did sleep, her slumber was disturbed by bad dreams.

She talked to herself during these dreams, though people couldn’t understand what she said.

Doctor Field came to see her every day or two, but he could not tell what her sickness was. He always said:

“Just give her the medicine as directed, and she will be better soon.”

Miss Rose had asked Mrs. Snow if she might take care of her, for she had come to love little Clematis, and Clematis loved her in return.

The school work did not take her time very much now, so Mrs. Snow was glad to let Miss Rose care for Clematis.

If she stayed away very long, Clematis would call for her. She wanted her in the room.

“Mrs. Snow,” said Miss Rose, one day, after Clematis had been ill more than two weeks, “I am very anxious about Clematis.”

“Is she no better?”

“No, I feel she is worse. She keeps asking for a cold drink of water, and says she is burning up. I wish I dared give her some, and keep her cooler.”

“Well, I think I should follow the doctor’s directions. It wouldn’t be wise to do anything that is not directed by him.”

“Don’t you suppose we could have another doctor to look at her, Mrs. Snow?”

“No, I fear not; not just now, anyway.”

Miss Rose went back to the little room upstairs with a sad heart. She knew Clematis was very ill.

That night she prayed that something might be done for the little sick girl, and the next morning she felt as if her prayers had been answered, when Doctor Field came.

“I shall have to be away for a short time, Miss Rose,” he said, after he looked at Clematis, and felt her pulse.

“A young man, Doctor Wyatt, will take my place, and I am sure he will do all that can be done.”

“Can he come today?” asked Miss Rose. “I wish he could see her soon.”

“I will ask him. I think he will be much interested in Clematis. I should like to see her well again myself, but I must be out of town a few weeks.”

“Oh, I hope he will come today, and I hope he will take an interest in my little girl,” said Miss Rose to herself.

“I know she can be cured, if we only know what is the matter.”

That afternoon Doctor Wyatt came. Miss Rose was glad when she saw him, for he was so kind, and so wise, that she knew he would do the best he could.

The afternoon was hot, and Clematis was covered with hot blankets, as directed by Doctor Field.

Dr. Wyatt took the blankets, and threw them off.

“The poor child will roast under those,” he said.

Then he sat beside her, and watched her.

“Is there anything you would like?” he said at last, in a pleasant voice.

“Yes, I want a cold drink of water.” Her voice sounded faint and feeble now.

“What does she have to drink?” asked Doctor Wyatt.

“We give her water now and then, as directed by Dr. Field. But we do not give her very much, and not very cold.”

“Have you any oranges in the house?”

“I could get some.”

“Then take the white of an egg, and put with it the juice of a whole orange. Add half a glass of water, with pieces of ice.

“Have good big pieces of ice,” Doctor Wyatt called after her, as he saw that Clematis had fixed her eye on him.

Clematis smiled when he said that, and turned toward him with a sigh.

Soon Miss Rose came back with the glass. Dr. Wyatt held it to the lips of the little sick girl. She drank slowly.

“Oh thanks,” she whispered, when he took the glass away.

“Give her some of that whenever she asks for it,” he said.

“Now tell me about the nights,” the doctor went on.

“She is restless, and sleeps very little. She has bad dreams when she does sleep, and talks to herself.”

“What does she talk about?”

“I don’t know. We can’t make out.”

“Do you keep the room lighted at night?”

“Oh, no, it is kept dark.”

“Well, tonight keep it lighted. People who have bad dreams are often frightened by the dark.”

“Shall I give her the medicine as directed?”

“No, don’t give her any more medicine at present. Give her all she wants of the orange and egg. I’ll be back in the morning.”

And Dr. Wyatt was gone.

“He’s a good doctor,” said Clematis, licking her dry lips. “I want a drink.”

Miss Rose smiled, and put the glass to her lips.